


I Pity The Grave That Tries To Keep Me From You

by ProblematicFavesAreProblematic (SaritaNotSerena)



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28183014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaritaNotSerena/pseuds/ProblematicFavesAreProblematic
Relationships: Bull Randleman/Reader
Kudos: 6





	I Pity The Grave That Tries To Keep Me From You

Bull Randleman x Reader One-shot

**Summary** : it’s just fluffy angst about Bull coming back from Market Garden bc I’m a soft squishy ~~sad~~ little tall person who is dealing with some major feels

 **Warnings** : shitty writing (mostly cuz I don’t feel like editing WHOOPSIE), angst, fluff, rushed ending, bleh, idk man it is what it is....

_Ya’ll know I listened to **Hozier’s[Work Song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3g0d6Cgqyg)**for part of this, I didn’t even try to be subtle about it._

~

~

~

You don’t react when Hoobler tells you about Bull. 

Martin can’t look at you, but you hug him just the same.

 _I’m sorry_ he’d blurted after he returned your embrace, voice breaking painfully. _I’m so_ ** _fucking_** _sorry._

But you’d just shook your head from side to side and given him the closest thing to a reassuring smile you could muster.

_Don’t be sorry. It’s_ **_not_ ** _your fault. I’m glad you’re here._

You weren’t sure how many times you’d said those three sentences since D-Day, but it was the only thing you could think of to say to your broken friends telling you through tearful apologies the names of the soldiers you all had loved and lost. As if it was _their_ fault... as if _they’d_ failed in keeping them safe _for you_.

_Don’t be sorry. It’s_ **_not_ ** _your fault. I’m glad you’re here._

Martin had let out one quiet sob against your neck before stepping back and turning and leaving. Everyone let him go. 

You understood- everyone grieved differently. Your grief had to wait a bit longer- you still had things to do.

No one made to stop you when you excused yourself, Webster having the presence of mind to give you a nod when you mumbled something about checking in with Nixon.

You and Bull had always known the risk of one or both of you dying- hell, you’d even discussed the likelihood of one of you dying in front of the other. You’d mentally prepared yourself as much as you could for that inevitability.

 _Missing_ , though? _Missing_ wasn’t sitting well with you.

Becoming an intelligence officer hadn’t been a career path you’d stumbled across by mistake- you _liked_ information, found comfort in details and strategy. 

You hated being blindsided, and since you’d been small you’d gone to great lengths to ensure you never entered a situation without being _fully aware_ of any and all potential outcomes that could occur. 

_Surprises aren’t always good, my darling._ **_Remember_ ** _that._

Your mother’s words had echoed in your head the first time you’d met Bull, when he’d caught you off guard by introducing himself to you in the same manner he had introduced himself to all of the other men in Easy- with solid eye contact, a firm handshake, and a gentle drawl of “ _Randleman, nice to meet you.”_

The idea that you wouldn’t hear his voice again, in either friendly introduction or intimate devotion, made you feel achingly hollow.

_“If you think something as silly as a grave can keep me from coming home to you, you got another thing coming, Little Lady”._

_“That sounds like you’re saying you’re going to haunt me, Den—”_

_“You should_ **_be_ ** _so lucky….plus, I’d make it fun, so don’t even worry about it.”_

You start to walk in earnest towards the officer’s area now, biting the insides of your cheeks in an effort not to cry. 

You _had_ to keep going. 

You’d promised him you would, just as _you’d made_ ** _him_** promise in kind.

When you finally found Nixon, you instantly frowned at the bruise blossoming on his forehead.

“What happened to _you_?” you ask, ignoring the man’s glare and walking over to get a closer look. “Looks like you tangoed with Joe Toye’s brass knuckles and _lost_.”

“Got shot in the helmet.” Nix grumbles at the same time Richard perks up and squints at you while asking “ _Toye’s got brass knuckles?”._

You wince, both in response to Nix’s injury and your accidental snitching on Joe. “ _Whoops_.”

Lewis’s eyes catch yours and his brow softens. 

You instantly know what he’s about to bring up, and shake your head preemptively.

“ _Lew_ ,” you begin with a heavy sigh, only to be shushed like a child before he spoke over you.

“They don’t know _anything_ for sure yet.” he insisted, and you knew that he knew you saw through his bullshit. 

He sometimes tried to be less pessimistic when he knew you were already way ahead of him in that department, but the two of you knew each other well enough by now for you to see it for what it was- him _trying_ to make you feel better, coddling you to make you feel better.

 _Lying_ to make you feel better.

_Information is truth, everything else is probably a lie._

Your mother was a bitter cynic, but you’d also never once known her to have her heart broken.

_Maybe she’d been on to something._

“Yeah,” you’d offered, quickly brushing past him to look at the map on the table. “Maybe. Anyway, when _exactly_ did Market Garden start going to shit? Do you think we were undermanned? Were our maps wrong? Did they have unexpected weaponry….?”

 _Distract_ the sad voice in your head offered as you threw yourself into work, using the churning pain in your belly to fuel your motivation to reclaim the town. 

_No one gets to hurt you and get away with it. No one gets to take_ **_Bull_ ** _from you and remain unpunished._

You decided then and there that you were going to make the SS bleed for what they’d done, and you knew that if Bull were there he’d tell you to rein it in.

_Got murder in your eyes, darling. What’s got you so cross?_

But Bull _wasn’t_ here. And you? You _had_ to get over it.

It’s what he would want.

~

~

You had barely slept that night, throwing yourself into rereading all of the intelligence reports until Dick finally ordered you out of the CP tent.

At first you’d fought him on it, still too afraid of being let alone with your own thoughts. But he’d been firm, literally snatching the paperwork from your trembling hands and hovering over you until you relented.

_“I don’t want to see you until morning, is that understood?”_

With more patience than you deserved he’d held your coat up and helped you slip into it, making a point to pull your knit hat down over your ears before turning you in the direction of where all the soldiers were sleeping.

Even though Bull had promised to be the one to haunt you, it was you who felt like the ghost.

But, like the obedient soldier you were, you walked to the spot where you and Bull had set up camp with Perconte and Luz. Neither man happened to be there at that moment, which was a small blessing because when you saw Bull’s unattended duffel bag in the same spot he’d left it that morning you’d been unable to stop the sob that slipped past your lips.

Like a child, you’d curled around his rucksack and held it close, your fingers tracing over the airborne patches that denoted it as his. 

Had it truly been this morning that you’d woken up in his embrace, groaning in sleepy protest when he refused to let you out of his arms?

_“Jus’ a bit longer,” he’d mumbled, bringing a leg up and over your hip to pin you beside him. “Let the boys start fightin’ without us, we’ll catch up later…”_

You wish that had been possible. You wished it could have been that simple.

~

~

Tears had leaked out of your eyes as you squeezed them shut and the next time you opened them it was morning. At some point in the night either George or Frank had tossed a wool blanket over you.

For a few glorious moments, you had thought Bull’s furnace-like chest had been what was keeping you warm. The blanket was a kindness, but an unintentionally cruel one.

After rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you’d gotten yourself ready and packed up to head out.

Bull’s duffle bag seemed to be filled with bricks as you hefted it over your shoulder with your own, and with each stride you took it only became heavier. You knew the protocol- take the deceased’s belongings to CP for redistribution and personal effects collection. 

It felt like defeat, as if you were giving up on him.

 _Defeat_ and _reality_ were seeming to become one and the same, these days.

Your throat was so tight by the time you made it to CP you were barely able to explain what you were doing to Lewis, your arm trembling as you held out the pack to him.

The moment Nix had taken it from your hands, tears began to spill from your eyes and for once you did nothing to stop them.

Nixon had been about to say something to you when Perconte rushed in breathlessly with a call of your name, almost forgetting to salute Lewis when he saw him.

“Oh! _Sir_. Uh, Y/N- there’s, um, something you should _see—_ ”

You glared at him, trying and failing to hide the fact that you’d been crying from your friend.

“I’m in the _middle of something_ , Perco. Can it wait?”

In the distance you could hear the sound of truck engines, and a new anxiety began to blossom in your chest at the idea of leaving Bull behind.

“But, _Y/N…_ ” he protested, clearly tongue-tied and overexcited.

“Oh my _God_ , **_what_**?!”

“ _It’s_ _Bull_!”

Your blood froze in your veins, sucking in a breath that felt too big for your body.

You could feel your heartbeat behind your eyes as your lungs screamed for more air, but your body was refusing to _blink_ or _breathe_ or _move….._

“ _That’s…_.no. W-what’re _you—_?”

The sight of a truck driving toward a group of Easy and Dog soldiers came to a halt, and you swore you say a familiar glimmer of sandy curls standing at least a foot above the group.

_No. There’s no_ **_fucking_ ** _way…._

With wide eyes you turn back to Lewis, seeing an equally confused look on his face. 

You barely wait for his nod of dismissal before looking to Frank again.

“C’mon, I’ll—”

You don’t wait for him to finish, sprinting away from them with a single-minded focus on reaching the horribly familiar silhouette of the man you[d begun to mourn.

_Bull Bull Bull BULL_ **_DENVER_ ** _BULL!?!?_

With no care for decorum or professionalism, you shove people aside and rush through the throng until you violently _skid_ to a halt before Johnny and Hoob.

And Dever _fucking_ Randleman.

A silent sob twists your face, vision doubling as more tears well in your eyes.

It _was_ him. It was **_him_**.

When your eyes find his, you force yourself to take a breath.

He’s dirty and scraped and a little bloody but he’s alive and he’s here and—

You throw yourself at him, arms latching around his neck and legs locking around his hips as he catches you easily in his arms.

“ _Oh my God,_ ” you whisper shakily, shaking like a leaf and clutching at him as if he were the last lifeboat in a storming sea. “Oh my _GOD,_ ** _Den—!_** ”

Bull’s got one arm across your backside and the other is pressing your torso to his as if he means to fuse the two of you together, his heartbeat loud and strong and powerful against your chest as he twists his cold face into your neck and just _breathes_ you in.

You know that Martin is trying to talk to you, that someone else is telling you to _take it easy_ but you can barely hear them through the roaring sound of life returning to your body.

When he sighs your name you swear that you’ve never heard a sound so sweet.

As you turn your head to press a kiss to his temple, you open your eyes and blink your tears away.

Of course, once you clear your eyes, you see the mess of blood staining his shoulder.

“Jesus _Christ_!” you gasp, untangling yourself from him in an instant and trying to get out of his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you were **_hurt_** , _you idiot?!_ ”

Bull allows you to unwrap your legs from his waist but refuses to let you go, the arm that had been under your bottom coming up to hold the back of your head lovingly.

A pained yet playful grin breaks across his lips as he eyes you. “Oh, _am I_?”

You smile stupidly, sniffling at his ridiculous attempt at nonchalance. 

Using his hold on the back of your neck he ducks down and presses a long, meaningful kiss to your lips. You sigh into it, and just as you cup his face in your hands someone clears their throat and you’re reminded that the two of you have an audience.

When you break apart he makes sure to wrap his good arm around your shoulders, and you wince when you catch the looks of surprise being sent your way by the replacements.

_Whoops, that was certainly unprofessional…._

Bill Guarnere barks a laugh as you shift uncomfortably, slinging his own bag back over his shoulder.

“ _Shit_ , if that’s the hello you give to someone who’s been MIA- I’m _definitely_ getting lost more often!”

Martin rolls his eyes, and enough people laugh that some of the tension is broken. 

You turn back to Bull and try to get him to let him show you his shoulder. But Bull has never been an easy man to physically move, especially when moving is something he doesn’t want to do.

This time is no exception.

“Let me _see_ it,” you huff, only to have him smirk and shake his head. “ _Denver_ , I could’ve made it worse, I need to make sure—”

“ _Nah_ ,” he says with a shrug he immediately regrets doing. “How about you kiss it better after Roe gets a look at it, hmm?”

As you open your mouth to reply there is a cry from above that it’s time to get moving, the reminder that there are more pressing matters to attend to shaking you from your anxious worrying.

Because it’s Bull, he hollers for his men to get on the truck as if he had been with them the whole time. 

“I need to go get your stuff, _our_ stuff from CP….”

Bull shakes his head before you’ve finished talking.

“Perco’s got it,” he says with a nod in the man’s direction. “ _Don’tcha buddy_.”

Without waiting for a reply, Bull pulls you along with him towards the trucks, refusing to let you leave his side despite your insistence that Roe needed to take care of him.

Getting into the truck, you help unbutton his shirt so Doc can start cleaning the ragged wound on his shoulder.

Bull brings your knuckles to his lips as the truck begins to move, eyes never leaving your face as he answers Gene’s rapid-fire questions about what had happened in the time Bull had been separated from the group.

_“...you lost some blood, how’d you manage not to pass out?”_

With a wink in your direction Bull chuckles.

“Considered it, Doc. But then I remembered my missus here was waitn’ and thought better of it.”

You shake your head admonishingly at his explanation.

“You’re _really_ something else, you know that Bull?”

In a move that surprised both you and the Doc, Bull used his grip on your hand to pull you so you were straddling his lap.

“Course I do, Little Lady. I’m _yours_.”

Well, goddamn.

“ _Damn right_ , now shut up and stop flirting.”

The smile he gave you only widened at the command.

“ _We’ll see, darlin’. We’ll see._ ”

~  
~  
~  
 **(is it trash? Yes. But is it _garbage_? Also yes. Love you all and thanks for reading the feels)**


End file.
